Bond, James Bond
by Al D Hickerson
Summary: 007 Short Stories
1. 2004-12-06 Passing Through

Passing Through

…….

He stepped lightly upon the roof. He was as quiet as could be, although, with the giant motor humming in the background, it wasn't especially necessary. The Tramcar beneath him began to rise. The two Sandia Peak technicians in the car below him had entered at the same time that he'd stepped on the roof. With luck no one would ever know he'd been there.

He wore light brown khaki pants, a light brown jacket (know in America as a windbreaker.) over his cotton shirt. He'd thought against a tie, but then relented, using the Q branch Navy version. It was embroidered with tiny anchors. Each of them could be useful in an emergency. He crouched beside the steel pillar and adjusted his pack. It was a dusty brown camo bag with a Q pack inside. He liked to be prepared in most situations.

He didn't particularly like Trams, too many bad memories. He wasn't Richard Burton, who'd apparently ridden to Schloss Adler atop a Tram. He would need all the luck he could find.

He shielded his Ronson lighter and puffed on the specially made Morland cigarette. He grabbed the pillar and stood facing away from the lower station. The sky in the east was just starting to lighten. At 6:30 the sun would rise.

…..

Thirty-six hours earlier he would have never imagined himself here. He'd been at the baggage carousel at the Albuquerque Airport. Awaiting his bag, for the connecting flight to Washington. He had been supposed to have a meeting with NSA liason officer outside the pentagon.

When suddenly, a familiar voice spoke to him from the group surrounding the carrousel, "Guten Tag, Mister Bond." He'd missed seeing the woman as she stood behind a large man.

"Sara? Sara Goldberg? Why, I haven't seen you in years." He immediately checked the nearby passengers to see if anyone was paying particular attention to them. The woman he'd addressed approached him smoothly and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder.

"Just walk with me James!" her voice seemed tense. He picked up his bags, and followed her away from the carousel. "What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

"Just passing through, Sara, on my way to Washington. What is the Mossad's loveliest agent doing in the middle of the American West? Or! Aren't you allowed to say?"

"Busman's holiday James. I am following an al-Qaida suspect on my leave. He's that fellow with the clergyman's collar." She'd said. Bond looked in the window reflection in the airport bar and saw three men leaving the baggage claim area. "I'm trying to find proof that he's actually Muslim instead of Mormon. But I've only got two days left before I'm to report to New York." She claimed. "He came here with the long haired fellow and met the tall man with the beret on the flight from Quebec."

"So how on earth are you going to prove that he's Muslim?" Bond asked.

"Well, every morning that he's been here, he goes to Sandia Peak, and disappears for several minutes. I've been trying to see if he's performing his morning prayers. That native fellow stopped me this morning from getting near the edge of the overlook, so I'm thinking that he's over there somewhere. If he is then that will prove to me that he's Muslim and confirm my other information that he is actually Algerian and not American. Even though, he could still practice his prayers if he claimed to be Muslim, he claims to be a Mormon member of Brigham Young University.

Apparently his credentials with the energy department at BYU are excellent. I have trailed him from the Sudan. He changed into that getup in London. Then flew to Cleveland, then here. He's made two trips to Sandia Labs in the last week. But I couldn't get in to see anybody without help from Telaviv. Now, it's my vacation, do you have to run off to Washington right away or…?" she smiled.

…….

The La Quinta Inn is a whitewashed stucco building housing some of Albuquerque's finest rooms. With over one hundred quiet, comfortable and spacious rooms, including enhanced lighting, data port communications via an internet server, and a plethora of entertainment options. Brightly lit tile baths with sunken whirlpool tubs. Ergonomic and rich wooden furniture and king sized beds with handmade Native American blankets and quilts.

Bond had been anticipating the First Light Breakfast but was disheartened to find that eggs were no longer served. He would have to settle for fresh fruit and coffee. He rolled over lightly and discovered that Sara had fallen into a deep sleep. He caressed her dark bangs and decided that the third time would not be the charm. He slipped out of the bed and retrieved the Walther PPK out from under his pillow and replaced it in his Berns-Martin Holster along the beltline of his Bill's Khaki's.

He padded quietly to the bath, instinctively checking the sitting room before going in for his shower. He dropped naked onto the white Corian tile and did his morning exercises until his stomach and arms ached. He could feel the slight perspiration gather at his joints as he rose above the glistening floor. After satisfying himself that was prepared for the day, he proceeded to jump into a steaming shower.

……

Down on the first floor of the La Quinta the night security man returned from the toilet, rubbing his freshly washed hands together in anticipation of the next chapter in the John Grisham novel. His attention was pulled away from his book by the green diode signaling that motion had been recorded in one of the upper hallways. Someone had left their room; he liked to log these for the house detective in the event it was a strawberry leaving a guest's room with perhaps more than her tip.

He rewound the digital recording after booting up another recorder and started to watch. The first thing he noticed was that this was not a strawberry, but a man. He had appeared in the hallway from the emergency stairs about ten feet from the room that he stopped at. He must be a burglar, a second story man, or worse, an enraged husband/boyfriend. The guard watched the man, and then triggered the silent alarm to the Albuquerque police.

The man had used a nullifier to gain entry to the room. A nullifier cycled the power on a door lock causing it to unlock. It had been too quick and too localized for the power fail equipment to alarm anyone. The other reason that the guard triggered the alarm was that there was, according to the guest log, an Isreali diplomat in the room. He certainly didn't want any international incidents, like a theft at the Inn. He also noticed a large case the man had been carrying.

……

Pablo smiled to himself. Another roundeye bites the dust, as his Apache ancestors would say. The venom had worked excellently. The Jew whore was catatonic but quite cognizant. She would see and feel everything that happened to her. The shower still ran in the bath, but he would be done and gone before anyone came from there. He opened his case, plugged in the chainsaw and began to work.

……

James Bond finished his frigid shower and began to towel himself. He could hear an electric hairdryer in the bedroom and smiled to himself. Maybe the third time would be the charm. He finished drying his feet and wrapped the towel around his waist.

He opened the door to the bedroom and was struck with such surreal horror that he could not move for nearly two heartbeats. Sara lay upon the bed, her arms and legs severed at the major bones. Another cut from the chainsaw had split her torso vertically until it had ripped through her heart.

The large native, whom Bond recognized from the airport last night, chose that moment to turn off the chainsaw, and by the time he realized that the shower wasn't running and turned toward the bath, Bond was almost upon him.

The man was caught completely by surprise. If he had not been, he would have easily killed a naked Bond. He used his hands, his chainsaw, and the electric cord from his chainsaw to attack Bond. He clawed at Bond's chest mercilessly, ripping flesh, and tearing skin. Bond could not get a grip on the man because of the slippery blood on the plastic butcher's apron he wore. But that also worked against Pablo as it tremendously reduced his movement. Eventually, Bond had wrapped the wet towel from his waist around the man's neck and had thrown him over his shoulder in a classic Judo throw that simply snapped the murderer's neck. Just at that moment the local police barged in.

……

"Well, Mister Bond, it appears that your story checks out!" said the Albuquerque detective, "Although your boss was extremely upset that you were involved in this business, Univex doesn't like any bad publicity you know! It seems that this was a serial killing. This Apache, Pablo, was an enforcer during his youth for the Palomas Hispanic gang that smuggles aliens from Mexico. He's been in prison a few times, but we've never been able to pin any of these chainsaw murders, six of them, on him. You wouldn't happen to know why he picked Ms. Goldberg, would you."

Bond shook his head, he knew his Tony Hillerman, and he knew that these New Mexico Tribal Police were a lot smarter than they acted. He addressed the Police lieutenant "Please let the Isreali consolate in New York know about this terrible misfortune. Miss Goldberg was a very important person."

"That doesn't answer my question. I'll contact the consolate. Why do you think that she didn't fight him?" the detective asked.

Bond looked at him to see if he was being tested. He thought that he was, so he answered, "Well, actually I think that spray bottle that your investigator found probably has something to do with it. It wasn't here before. What do you think happened?"

The detective smiled, accepting the truth of the matter, that this Bond was actually a police official of some kind. He then grimaced and said, "It seems to be a form or mixture of snake venom, and it is used by the tribal shamans as a medicine. But, this is the first time I've ever witnessed its use for murder. Knowing that Pablo was the murderer and how he did it, answers several questions for us. You are probably free to go, but don't leave town until the inquest is over."

That had been yesterday morning. Bond ate at the La Quanta's restaurant. He made a call to Sandier Labs and arranged a three o'clock meeting.

………

Sandier National Laboratories began in 1945 on Sandier Base in Albuquerque as Z Division, part of what's now Los Alamos National Lab (LANL). Both labs were born out of America's World War II atomic bomb development effort — the Manhattan Project.

Sandier came into being as an ordnance design, testing, and assembly facility, and was located on Sandier Base to be close to an airfield and work closely with the military. In 1949, President Harry Truman wrote a letter to American Telephone and Telegraph Company President Leroy Wilson, offering the company "an opportunity to render an exceptional service in the national interest" by managing Sandier. AT&T accepted, began managing the Labs on Nov. 1, 1949, and continued in that role for nearly 44 years.

The Labs' original mission — providing engineering design for all non-nuclear components of the nation's nuclear weapons — continues today, but Sandier now also performs a wide variety of national security R&D work. As a Department of Energy national laboratory, Sandier works in partnership with universities and industry to enhance the security, prosperity, and well-being of the nation. They provide scientific and engineering solutions to meet national needs in nuclear weapons and related defense systems, energy security, and environmental integrity, and to address emerging national challenges for both government and industry.

On Oct. 1, 1993, the Department of Energy awarded the Sandier management contract to the Martin Marietta Corp., now Lockheed Martin. Today, Sandier has two primary facilities, a large laboratory and headquarters in Albuquerque (more than 6,600 employees) and a smaller laboratory in Livermore, California (about 850 employees).

Bomb-disablement experts at Sandia National Laboratories share the latest in bomb-disablement tools and approaches with regional bomb squads in five-day, hands-on training conferences. Operation America, as the events are called, focuses on the science of explosives and the advanced technologies and methodologies necessary to protect the public from the increasingly sophisticated and dangerous explosive devices being fielded by today's terrorists and criminals.

Sandier hosted its first bomb-squad training conference in Albuquerque, in 1994 to put emerging bomb-disablement technologies into the arsenals of the world's busiest bomb squads, primarily those of local and state governments, the U.S. military, federal law enforcement agencies, and select foreign government antiterrorism organizations. The workshops include classroom instruction and range demonstrations of advanced disablement strategies, vehicle bombs, and other issues associated with current terrorist-type threats. James Bond had excelled during his weeks training here in year 2000. His appointment was with George Peach the director of training.

"Good to see you James," said George.

"Thank you Captain Peach, I've come with some serious business. I need a referral to your university liaison officer." 007 said.

"Oh, that would be Mr. Conroy, I'll walk you over. So how's your boss, still fit is she?" Peach asked.

"Yes, fit enough to trim the admiralty every once and a while," claimed Bond.

"Tom? Are you busy? Good! I'd like you to meet one of our very good graduates. He's got some business for you. Tom Conroy, This is.' said Peach.

"Bond, James Bond. Good of you to see me." Said Bond.

"Glad to meet you Mr. Bond, what can I do for you?" Captain Peach and Bond sat down across the desk from Mr. Conroy.

"It's about Reverend Smith. I'm inquiring about your discussions with him. What can you tell me about that?" asked Bond.

"Well, He's here as a representative of the energy department of Brigham Young University. He's here in regards to GE's project Jobe. That's a long-term study that GE is conducting on their Toxic Waste Storage Facilities. He's here to arrange for the transfer of the waste from GE to BYU.' Tom said.

"How does that involve Sandia?" asked Bond.

"Well, it's nuclear fuel pellets. Sandia is tasked with liaison between the supplier, in this case General Electric and the University. We've got ten shipments approved for shipment to BYU labs across the United States. There are 100 pellets per, enclosed in glass bubbles to prevent any contact between the pellets. They are inside a lead lined casket. With a lead cement lining and seawater filling. The pellets are then removed at the University labs with robotic arms and used for their studies. Normally these would go straight to the mines, except for the project. Why?" asked Conroy?

"Well, for the very reason that Reverend Smith may and I stress the word MAY be a terrorist. When you say toxic waste, you mean like oil spills or something like that?" Asked Bond.

"No! Mr. Bond, I don't mean an oil spill or anything like that, although we do have to cleanup many saltwater spills. I'm talking about "Chernobyl" type lethal material. If a man stood unprotected near one of these pellets for one hour, he would die of bone cancer within a year, with near zero survivability. Radiation sickness within 4 hours, and if a man was exposed for 24 hours, he'd be dead.

If Reverend Smith is a terrorist, we shouldn't let him near any of this stuff. But, he's just the Energy guy. He won't get any where near these pellets. He's just arranging for the payment and transportation. In fact, GE handles everything else. The only input he's had on this process is the destination list, and we verified the list from BYU Energy separately." Said Tom.

"Can I see the List?" Asked Bond.

"Not without the proper authorization from the Atomic Energy Commission." Said Conroy.

"Okay, could you do me a favor and check the addresses, separately from BYU." Asked Bond.

"Sure! Hang on! I'll check MapQuest. Let's see. North Platte. Hmm! That's odd! George could you ask Bill to come in here please?" Tom said. The tall man stepped out of the room and came back with a plumpish man in a gray suit. "Bill, this is Mr. Bond, he'd like to discuss a TW destination list with me, Could you approve that rather quickly please?"

"Mr. Bond do you have any Identification?" asked Bill. "Oh! Yes, That will do, can you tell me today's Nato Security Level Three Password?"

Bond said "It's raining in Rome?"

Bill said, "It's okay Tom, he's cleared above you. Hell, Mr. Bond, your cleared above me."

"Thank you Bill." Bond said.

"Right, well sorry for the procedure James, but these days we have to do it." Explained Tom. "Let's go to the Conference Room, Bill can you ask Stan to join us?"

"San Fernando, California, No listing for that address. Kennewick, Washington, No listing for address. New Baltimore, New York, is a suburb of Albany, No listing for that address. Brunswick, Maryland, No Listing for that Address. Detroit, Michigan, No Listing for that address. Shallows, Michigan, that's on the Northern Peninsula, No listing for that address. Detroit, Michigan, That comes up as a parking lot. Aliquippa, Pennsylvania, No listing. What the hell is going on Mr. Bond?"

"Well apparently your ten shipments are being rerouted, or set up to be hijacked. But they could do that anywhere. What if they are going to blow up your delivery trucks?" asked Bond.

"What the hell would they do that for?" asked Tom.

"There terrorists, you can't figure that out." Said George Peach.

"Oh! Yes we can!" spoke the newcomer to the group Stan Hootman. "I'm with threat analysis, I'm going to say that they are either going to blow up the trucks and pollute the general area for several miles, or they are going to hijack them. But we need to get Phil Lancer in here."

"Can you put that third map back up on the screen, Tom?" asked Bond. "What if they dumped the toxic waste into the river? That's the Potomac River isn't?"

"Yes!" said Stan. "It is! Phil, I'm in Conference room 203. Can you join us, we need you?"

The four men waited patiently for the two minutes that it required for Phil Lancer to arrive at the conference room. Then, Tom Conroy explained the situation to him. Ending with "Phil can you answer James' question about dumping the waste into the river?"

Phil Lancer shook visibly, "Well, excuse me, this is real isn't it. Not a drill."

"No Phil this isn't an exercise. This is a real analysis. What can you tell us?" asked Stan.

Phil calmed himself and proceeded. "Well, number one, if they blow up the trucks, they will probably pollute a ten square mile area with radioactive fallout. In the locations you've shown me. Probably about 2000 fatalities and 12000 cases of cancer. If they hijacked them and transported them all to the same place, they could probably have enough to build a bomb, but we'd be able to track the trucks. The worst case scenario would involve stealing the caskets and pouring them into the river."

"Why is that?" asked Bill.

"Well, because the saltwater that the pellets are stored in would pollute the river water downstream! Isn't that right Phil?" asked Tom.

"Yes, that's true, but that wouldn't be the big problem, the big problem would be the eradiating of the waterways. You see the reason that the pellets are encased in glass and floated in saltwater is to keep them from attaining any significant mass at all, but each and every one is deadly, and worst of all they are buoyant, they float. So they'll just float down the river to the sea, eradiating the entire river for the next 100 years. Also this particular time of year is dangerous because there is a lot of flooding going on. So all those floodplains will be polluted as well as the water sources for the various cities downriver." Said Phil.

Now Tom began to shake. "You mean that? That's Los Angeles, Portland, Pittsburgh, Albany, downriver that's Washington and New York. Not to mention the great lakes and the Mississippi. God help us."

Phil answered dryly, "Those cities would be radioactive wastelands, and the United States wouldn't have any fresh water unless you caught it in a rain barrel."

The meeting had broken up rather quickly after that as Tom rushed to cancel the arrangements for the transfers. He'd asked Bill how to handle the phone call from Reverend Smith when he called tomorrow. Bill had said to answer that there was a problem with the list and could the Reverend please show up at the office to clarify an arrangement. Bond didn't think the good reverend would ever show his face around New Mexico, once the list was questioned. But he'd had an idea where he could find him.

…..

That had been yesterday afternoon. As the Tram approached the top station at 10,300 feet, Bond looked to the west to look at the 11,000 square mile panoramic view of New Mexico, above canyons and lush forests. Many of Albuquerque's streetlights still shone. The Tram came to a stop and Bond scampered up the metal coil and onto the roof of the station. There were two other large buildings as well as a few small ones up here.

The largest building looked familiar to him. It was the High Finance Restaurant and Tavern. It offered the chance to enjoy both the breathtaking beauty of the Land of Enchantment and top-notch cuisine. Almost 2.7 miles above the Cibola National Forest, the High Finance Restaurant would satisfy your appetite in a variety of ways. Slow roasted Prime Rib or skillet roasted Ahi Tuna are both culinary delights, as well as the crowd-pleasing, flame searing Beef Flambé. You could enjoy one of the award winning handcrafted microbrewed ales, or sip the essence from any of the flavorful wines from an extensive and quality selection. Bond was currently most interested in the fact that the restaurant served Omelets.

Bond looked up at the eastern sky. What had appeared to be small white clouds from Albuquerque were in fact, dark gray near the mountaintop and whiter thousands of feet higher. Dawn was approaching. Avoiding anyone who might be up here, like the restaurant staff, Tram Tech's, or Park Rangers, he quickly reached the north slope of the ridge and found a convenient pine tree. Fashioning an anchor rope, he lowered himself over the side of the cliff. Nine hundred feet below the massive boulders were barely visible. One slip and he would be crushed on the rocks below. Unless, of course, he pulled the ripcord quickly on the Q pack. Even then, he would suffer broken bones of some kind.

He swung on the cord and looked around the outcropping of rock that shielded him from the Overlook platform. There it was, a much smaller platform, more like a ledge, for the strong of heart to peer down the mountain, there was a gated access. A black iron stair and platform reminiscent of someone's fire escape, led downward. This is where the 'Reverend' Smith had been coming this week and Bond would find out why.

……..

Azziz stood next to Rene. The Canadian stunk so badly that Azziz could barely breath. Oh the things I do for Allah, he thought. The third man in the car with them stood in the center of the car grasping the handrail and squinching his eyes tightly shut. Azziz spoke "Relax Riker, there is nothing you can do about this situation, you are in Allah's hands. Release yourself to him, and pray for your courage." Azziz said to Rene, "Do you think the clouds will come in today? I don't want to miss sunrise."

Rene looked upward and sighed, "I don't know, I wish we knew what happened to Pablo."

"Pablo is a man of his word, he will contact us next week from Palomas to give us the details of his task. The Jewess had to be silenced. After my phone call today, we shall leave this operation to the separate cells to complete. We shall all meet in Alexandria next Friday. By that time the United States will be finished. InshAllah, er God willing." said Azziz. "Ah, We are here!"

The three men were startled as they emerged from the car by a youngish voice calling "Heads up!" A tram technician, a short lanky man climbed down the side of the car and lowered the long package to the Tram's gantry. It resembled a furled sail all bound together.

Azziz glanced at the seething Riker,"Relax, it is only the glider again. Get your bearings! Right over there is solid ground."

"Yes! You're right Reverend! Sorry." Quavered the bald headed man. The swastika's on his earlobes stopped their shaking as he set foot on the mountain. They glanced both left and right, and then turned left toward the overlook. The overlook was a wooden structure likened to a patio deck. People could go right up to edge and peer down at the jagged rocks 900 feet below. A light wind was blowing from the north and it appeared that a cloud may close on the mountaintop before too long.

"Hurry, the sun is almost up." Said Azziz. He climbed over the small chain link fence and proceeded down the iron staircase. At the bottom, nearly fifteen feet below the overlook, he placed his prayer rug and knelt upon it facing Mecca. Then began his morning prayers.

A few seconds later, a cloud enveloped the mountain. The visibility was reduced to 10 feet and a brutal snow began flying through the air. James Bond realized that this was the moment for action. The two thugs were near blind and Reverend Smith was praying to Allah. He quickly climbed the rope and started across the clifftop.

The first person that he ran into was the tall man from Quebec. Bond attacked him and quickly learned that the man fancied himself a savat master or maybe even Jujitsu. Bond noticed that he tried to empress Bond with his fighting style. Bond thought that the man kicked very hard, but he'd seen the Matrix to many times. He was able to grasp the man's foot at one crucial point and use the man's own weight to perform a Judo throw. The man would have easily survived, except that the throw was over the side of the overlook. He screamed when he cleared the cloud, about 100 feet down. His scream lasted about three seconds before his life was extinguished.

As Bond peered over the side, he could see that the Reverend was deep in prayer. He started to make his way to the chain fence, when the bald headed man jumped from his right and nearly knocked Bond over to the side. The man fought mercilessly, and at one point, had used Bond's backpack to drag him to the side rail. Bond barely had gotten out of the straps in time. He watched his Q pack parachute sail out of sight in the mist. Then was able to push away from the railing.

He drove the man across the overlook to the chain link fence and propelled him into the steel cross member. The man gasped, and went for Bond's throat. At that moment the cross member gave way and Bond and the man pitched out over empty space. Bond had hold of the steel and the man was hanging on to Bond's shoulder and arm. "Don't look down!" Bond said. The man couldn't stop himself, the cloud moved further southward at that moment, and he looked down, the steel protested with a sharp noise and the man let go of Bond. Four seconds later he was a bright red stain on a rock below.

Bond edged his way back to solid ground and crawled as quietly as he could over the fence at the stairway. "You! You were at the airport!" said Reverend Smith. "Where is Rene? Where is Riker?" he asked.

"They've gone to meet Allah, Reverend, all the shipment of the pellets has been cancelled. You've failed in your little scheme." Said Bond.

The Reverend Smith pulled a knife from a concealed pocket of his jacket and told Bond to move out of his way. Bond backed up the stair case, and the Reverend walked closer to it. Bond chose his timing carefully, then leaped on to Smith. Smith was startled and quickly lost his balance. He tried to run past Bond and received a thorough bump which sent him over the iron railing. The knife fell away clattering against the rocks below. Smith called "Help me, Damn you, Help me." His fingers grasped the iron railing as tightly as possible.

Bond reached down and retrieved the prayer rug from the platform. He walked to the railing. He looked into Smith's eyes and said "InshAllah!". Then he threw the rug over the railing. Smith didn't even hesitate, he reached for the rug and lost his grip. He actually caught the rug before he became a stain on the rocks.

After he'd gotten back on the overlook, Bond straightened his tie and walked over to the restaurant. A few minutes later, he realized that the same detective that he'd spoken to yesterday was walking up the path toward the overlook with a Park ranger. He finished his coffee, a brazillian roast, and paid the cashier in cash. Then went south toward the Tram station.

He passed an Albuquerque patrolman standing outside the top station and then saw the glider, he'd prepared as backup. He unsnapped the wings and fashioned the cross brace into position. He snapped on the helmet and checked the patrolman again. The uniformed man was looking down the mountainside, presumably at the bloodstains on the rocks below.

He pushed off the clifftop and plunged down the mountainside until the wings caught hold and he began to lift into the sky. The detective from Albuquerque looked up at the hangglider and said, "Well, at least that guy brought his wings, I figure this is suicide pact or something. Let's get them cleaned off the rock before the tourists arrive."


	2. 2005-11-06 Caribean Holiday

Author's Note:

This is a Pre-credits sequence for a film. I wrote this story in 1999 (prior to TWINE). It was a pre-credits sequence for a story about the Y2K bug. I'd seen footage of the Forrestal landings and thought 'This has got to be in a James Bond movie.' While researching C-130's I discovered that as part of the original script of TLD, the Russian plane that Dalton flies at the end of the movie (actually a C-130) was supposed to attempt a landing on a ship and misses leaving Bond and Kara dangling over the side. ( Does that sound too much like Octopussy? ) I'm assuming that EON won't try again. So here it is.

Caribbean Holiday

Dateline: San Monique

The CNN reporter clung to his microphone on the small picture. Sergeant Porter adjusted the reception. As the picture cleared, he could see the reporter, who'd chosen a backdrop of Palm trees near the tall chain link fence. The reporter was speaking,

"Prime Minister Solitaire has asked the British Ambassador for assistance. We are in the third day of the standoff between San Monique Police and the Samedian Independence Army. A group of psuedo-terrorists that have captured the only nuclear power station, Kanaga Electric on this small island."

"The leader of this mostly local group of militants, who according to Police, have allegedly murdered the two plant guards two days ago, is Sambo Cuevera, a former Cuban national. In his many speeches given on local television regarding the thefts from the tourist hotels, he claims to work only on the direct orders from Baron Samedi, the mythological Lord of the Dead in Voodoo tradition."

"Prime Minister Solitaire has responded with tongue firmly in cheek when asked about Sambo's statements, saying that she was the former High Priestess and knows Baron Samedi personally and he doesn't wish this reign of violence to persist."

"The Kanaga plant was of course developed with money approved in large part by President Bush in his visit here in 1991. This power station has allowed this small country to maintain its independence from Haiti and the Dominican Republic; it's much higher populated neighbors. While contracting with MGM and the Princess Cruise lines to develop this island into one of the Caribbean's hottest resort spots."

"The fear is that Sambo will carry out his threat to murder the daughter of the Nigerian Ambassador, who'd happened to be touring the plant as a special guest of MGM at the time of the assault. The Nigerian heiress Andera is an international model for DeBeers and has many fashion designer's clamoring for her presence, but proclaims 'I only wear diamonds!'"

"Now with the admittance by Sambo of having a suitcase atomic device, the tension here has escalated. Inside the electrified fence an unknown number of militants patrol in armed jeeps. Setting off the device would kill most of the island's inhabitants and poison this area of the Caribbean for years to come."

"The British Ambassador Nigel Smallfaucit has recently told the press that the Foreign Office has sent for its special negotiator, currently at his summer home in Jamaica. We are told that he'll arrive tomorrow morning."

Sergeant Porter smiled to himself and thought to himself, "That's what you're supposed to think Martin." He was sitting in the side seats near the flight deck of the huge AC130H known as "Spectre". Sergeant Porter was a 12-year veteran of the United States Air Force's A1 Intelligence Department. He was part of the **16th Special Operations Squadron** stationed at Hurlburt Field, FL. He was in command of a small 10 member Assault Squad used by the air force for counter-terrorist missions. He was a 6'3" 235 lb. highly decorated African American Airman.

This particular aircraft was most recently used over Afghanistan as a gunship during Operation Enduring Freedom. It was built by Lockheed Martin in the 1970's. Its current configuration of 39-meter wingspan, 29-meter length, and 11-meter height allowed its four Allison T56-A-15 4600 horsepower turboprops to speed through the Caribbean sky at 360 mph. Unique equipment on this highly modified C-130 enabled the crew to provide surgically accurate firepower in support of both conventional and unconventional forces, day or night. It was painted the traditional black with very few identifying marks readable from below. It was a covert aircraft for a covert role.

It was mid morning in the Caribbean, the heavy plane edged closer to the small island. The pilot Captain Williams began to change the pitch of the wing surfaces and propellers to enable the plane to descend. A small green light blinked on and Sergeant Porter signaled his men. They were on a tight timetable.

Andera was hot. Way too hot for this time of morning. She was a native of Nigeria, but had spent most of the last few years in Johannesburg and Amsterdam. Very few places in Africa were this moist. The air was cloying already and her tee shirt that those bastards had let her keep was pasted to her skin with two days of sweat. Beneath her tattered shirt, she wore only a pink bikini. She moved like a caged animal upon the small cot. She was tossing and turning, to try to find comfort.

She was 22 years old, about 5'9" in height and weighed at her last commercial, a paltry 104 pounds. Her measurements were 42, 23, and 30\. Besides modeling she reveled in running and wanted to be in the 2004 Olympics but really doubted her ability to out speed her country's Olympic hopeful. Still she might go as the alternate. Of course that all depended on whether that nut case killed her or not. She pushed the fear away again. She'd been very courageous so far but as her captivity grew longer, it was becoming more difficult to be defiant.

That Sambo, she'd met his type before, one of her old boyfriends was just like him, an asshole that couldn't put three thoughts together without coming up with a conspiracy to define them. For instance her old boyfriend, a history major, had believed that Jewish history of Moses was a complete theft or retelling of a West African folk tale about a priest leading several hundred children out of slavery. The myth had come from a time in history before the Egyptians had begun current civilization. Sambo was the same way; he thought that sacrificing her would bring the blessings of the Lord of the Dead upon himself. As far as she remembered, the Lord of the Dead just wanted someone to die; it didn't have to be her.

She was in a side room off the main corridor, it had been an infirmary, but now served as her cell. The men with Sambo had removed and probably taken the medications that had been stored there. There was a knock at the door. She hurriedly pulled down her tee shirt proclaiming 'A diamond is forever.' "What is it?" She answered in Dutch to the knock.

"Cover your face." A voice said. The voice was different than any of the men that helped Sambo. It was English and sounded like a Scotsman. "I'm blowing the door." it barked at her. She quickly turned away from the door and covered her head with her arms. Three small cracks sounded and then a resounding bang as the shaped charges blew the door off its hinges and several feet across the room. Andera lunged up from the cot as a man stepped into the room swinging a large pistol to the left and right in front of him. The man was about 6' tall. He had dark hair that wouldn't stay in place creating a comma over his right eye. He seemed fit, and he shouted in Dutch so that she could hear him over the echoing blast from the door, "Let's go, we haven't much time!"

Andera said, "Okay! But who are you and what about Sambo?" She noticed that he was wearing a dark blue formal navy uniform. He was a sailor. There were also three rather large splashes of what could only be described as blood on his chest and arms. "Are you hurt?" She asked.

"Bond, James Bond, I'm the new negotiator. Mr. Sambo has gone to see Baron Samedi. I'm not injured, but there are still some people around that would like to change that. Especially since I've confiscated the bomb," he answered her. He needed to get the bomb out of here as quickly as possible before someone retrieved it. He hefted the suitcase in his left hand and pointed the Walther P99 out the door to the left. That was the way to the front entrance, but they weren't going that way.

He jumped out into the hallway and headed right. He remembered the left and right turn that would lead him to the utility garage. Suddenly a sharp klaxon rang out, since this was a public facility and he was already here, it wasn't a warning to the terrorists, there was something else wrong. He'd had to fire a few shots to stay ahead of the SLA thugs; otherwise they had met no one. They came to a door, and when he opened it, he almost shot a tall black man in U.S. Air force combat gear.

The man, whose nametag, proclaimed him to be Porter, collapsed with a sigh. His clothing was soaked with water and his skin was very red. Through the partially open door Bond saw more men dressed the same. An earpiece dangled from his ear, and a yellow tag with the symbol of radiation showed red. These men had been irradiated with steam from the nuclear reactor coolant as well as burned by it. That's what the klaxon had been. Fortunately, Kanaga power was on the eastern end of San Monique, and any released steam wafted out over the Caribbean Sea.

That wasn't going to help these men however. A voice spoke over the earpiece and Bond placed it in his ear. "A6 acknowledge, Sergeant Porter, come in!"

Bond grabbed the small radio from the sergeant's belt and pressed the talk button. "This is Royal Navy Commander James Bond, Sergeant Porter and his squad are down they've been exposed to radioactive steam. How can I help?"

"Captain Williams, here Commander, we're here to help with your egress. About 140 yards southwest on the rear road, is an AC130, Try to get them up and back to the plane. We're also taking small arms fire from the west, so we'll need to move pretty quickly." the captain responded.

Bond looked across the room where the door to the utility garage was open. If that door had been closed the men would have most certainly drowned and been scalded in the superheated steam. He wished that he knew more about radioactivity. He knew enough that they were all in trouble. But, if they didn't get out of here it wouldn't matter. He turned to Andera and said in Dutch, "I'm going out there and see if we've a lorry."

He lunged out the door with his pistol leading the way. He scanned the garage for something to transport the men. Then he spotted it. A flat bed Mitsubishi Fuso FE-SP medium-duty truck that was used by Kanaga power for grounds maintenance. It sat in the second parking space next to the night guards Minicooper.

This truck boasted a roomy 7-man cab, the latest safety features and an automatic transmission. It had four doors, and fuel-injected diesel engine. The cab was spacious, with well-positioned controls, instrumentation, and a tilting steering wheel. The trucks visibility was excellent, 40 greater than conventional trucks. Its 18 foot rugged flat bed would easily hold the eleven men, and he knew the Fuso would easily have the power to speed to the waiting plane, Fuso's are known for their dependability. It occurred to Bond that the truck would also fit inside the AC130, if it didn't already have a load. He quickly helped the men; some of whom were unconscious to the truck and had Andera chain them together. He thought to himself, 'this process was taking to long.'

When they opened the garage door, the early Caribbean morning sun showed brightly on the lawn outside. As Bond punched the accelerator and the Fuso leapt out the door, he saw that a jeep was moving westward along the southern road. The driver spotted them and abandoned his race for the plane. Two men with AK47 assault rifles began shooting at them. Had the jeep driver stopped and allowed the men to take aim, Bond would have been dead. As it was, the windshield of the truck is what picked up the occasional bullet.

The Fuso rounded the side of the brick garage extension to the back of the plant. Bond could see the large AC130H, its propellers turning in a way that made a large enough blast of turbulence to prevent the one remaining SLA member from approaching closer than the limited cover next to the road allowed him. His compatriot lay nearby, apparently wounded.

As Bond drove closer, he realized that an airman was shooting at the SLA gunman, with what appeared to be an automatic pistol, perhaps an H&K VP-70, the three round bursts were keeping the gunman at bay. Bond accelerated and quickly turned the Fuso behind the huge plane.

The Jeep carrying the gunmen that had been following Bond now turned their attention on the Spectre itself. The gunner inside the plane leveled the gattling guns mounted on the portside at the jeep. As the 105mm bullets traced across the lawn, a lucky shot from one of the SLA men punchered through the skin of the plane and destroyed the low-level light television viewer that the gunner was using. The gunner was injured, but the fellow that had been firing the VP-70, the loadmaster, couldn't help him, he waved Bond inside.

Bond stood on the accelerator, and told Andera to hang on. A slight bump occurred when the Fuso hit the loading ramp, and another when the nearly too big truck locked into the wheel locks. The loadmaster pressed the ramp controls and the doors began to close. He confirmed to Captain Williams that the truck was aboard and then went to aid Bond and the others.

Bond jumped down as bullets started to pass through the large plane, he screamed at the loadmaster, "I'm going to take the Bofurs, go help them." Bond raced to the middle gun console, a 40 mm Bofurs quad; he sighted at the low level light television and targeted the jeep.

Unfortunately, Captain Williams chose that moment to release the AC130H's brakes, so Bond's first volley went wide. Another jeep appeared behind the first, and Bond targeted that Jeep first because the rear deck appeared to have a mounted fifty-caliber machine gun.

The 40 mm shells tracked across the lawn and one man jumped out of the Jeep and into the path if the shells. Bond saw his body shred and a smoke grenade blasted what was left of his body to the lawn. The fifty caliber opened up as the plane rose above the tree line. In a matter of minutes they would be out of range. The second jeep was hit by a fusillade of the 40 mm bullets and was riddled as well as the men shooting at the plane.

The first Jeep was now moving again and Bond swung the sight for the Bofurs and targeted it as the plane climbed into the sky. The next volley struck the Jeep's motor and petrol tank and the Jeep disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame.

Bond relaxed at the gunnery station, until he heard Captain Williams over the radio whispering 'Help!'

He turned and the loadmaster hadn't heard he was down with a bullet in his leg, nearly torn in half. Bond yelled in Dutch for Andera, who appeared from the other side of the Fuso. She looked extremely scared, but otherwise all right. Andera followed him to the flight deck. Bond cursed as he tripped over something under foot. He recognized it immediately as Sambo's bomb. He gently picked it up and placed it on the seat of the Fuso. Then, turned again towards the front of the plane.

The sight in the flight deck brought him up short. Captain Ingram the copilot was missing most of his head. Captain Williams was bleeding from a shoulder wound and unconscious. He had been able to set the aircrafts autopilot, and everything appeared normal at first. Bond and Andera pulled Captain Ingram from the right seat and Bond took the copilots chair. The Fire warning light shone bright red and the computer identified the location as the spare fuel tank located under the left wing. Bond looked over Captain Williams and saw the fire spreading toward the wing itself. He flipped the switch to drop the tank. It fell about 200 feet before erupting in a fireball that shook the plane. Andera began swabbing Captain William's blood from the flight deck. She screamed when she found part of Captain Ingram's scalp.

"There, there, everything's over. Just take a deep breath and calm down." Bond instructed.

"Calm down! Are you crazy? That man is dead. How can I be calm?" Andera sobbed tearfully. She began to shake with the shock of seeing this man who'd only come to San Monique to help rescue her, lying lifeless on the floor. She would never have wanted anyone to die instead of her. A shudder of self-loathing passed through her as she realized that she was glad to be alive.

"You can't help these men, if you don't relax. That's what we must do. They came to help us and we must help them," he stated as calmly as he could muster. He felt her guilt, as well as his own; he was appreciative of the sacrifice these men were facing in his aid. His peculiar guilt disappeared the moment that the Fuel Emergency Warning began ringing. A lucky shot from the 50-caliber gun had punctured the main fuel line and every other drop of fuel pumped into the line was falling toward the ocean below.

"What's that?" Andera asked.

"We're about out of petrol. I've got to find someplace to land." Bond stated loudly. Out over the nose of the Spectre, he thought he recognized something. He picked up the radio microphone and spoke hurriedly.

Aboard the Nuclear Powered Aircraft Carrier CV-65 U.S.S. Enterprise, Captain Dalton adjusted his cap. The XO approached him with a missive that the communications officer had handed him. The XO spoke when the Captain looked him in the eye. "We've a Mayday, from a aircraft, for an fuel emergency. It's apparently a medical emergency as well. The pilot claims to be a Royal Navy Pilot, and he has given the correct recognition signal. He's requested the decon procedure for his passengers. He gave us a special rescue procedure code, but it's not in the Standard Ops library, if you could use your override password to access DOD…"

"Thank you XO, I'm already on it. Mmm. That's forty years old. The Forrestal? Well would you look at that? XO what kind of aircraft is he flying?" Captain Dalton asked.

"The overhead shows a small aircraft 23 miles, 270 degrees at about 360 knotts, sir, but his id comes in as a Spectre. I don't think I know that one sir. It's definitely Air force and not Royal Navy." The XO stated flatly. He was of the opinion that this was some kind of drill to catch him off guard. "Intel?" asked the XO.

"Spectre is the designation for an AC130H Hercules Gunship out of Hurlburt Florida, Sir." Said the Intelligence Officer. "Joint Ops had a briefing about San Monique this morning concerning one." He stated. "San Monique is about forty miles west, Sir".

The Captain ordered, "Right! XO cancel the Flight briefing; Clear those cats off the deck. Raise the burn shields. Turn out the crash carts. Fire control to deck two. Alert the Decon Team. Drop the power on the reactors to 20. Complete your turn. Sound the emergency signal."

One hundred and Forty men looked up as one as the emergency warning signal got their immediate attention. The two F14 Tomcats were rolled back onto their elevators and dropped below the landing deck. Massive concrete walls where the catapults are were raised into position. Very quickly the deep resounding sound of the Hercules became noticeable to the few remaining men on deck.

Andera looked out over the wide console, and asked Bond "What the hell are you doing?"

"Fasten your lap strap, we're going to the hospital. Is everyone okay back there?" he asked.

"Better than me right now. You can't land on a boat. It will sink." She tried to remain calm but her voice cracked.

"Your right! We should just fly around until we run out of petrol in fourteen minutes, then we'll crash into the ocean and the men in the truck will all float to shore and everything will be fine! This is our only chance." He said.

As the Hercules flew over the edge of the landing deck, Bond rotated the propeller blade surfaces so that the motors of the plane were now braking instead of propelling. This is the feature of all the C-130 aircraft that make them so adept at short landings and takeoffs. Bond hoped that it would be enough.

As soon as the plane set down on the deck, he pressed the brake petals, and flaps. The Hercules began to slow and Bond's shoulders began to ache from the straps holding him into the seat. The Command Island of the Enterprise loomed to his right, and he missed a railing by eight feet. The concrete walls were just a few dozen feet ahead and he applied more pressure to the brakes.

The plane finally stopped its forward momentum about 2 meters before the concrete barriers and then the plane began to back up. Bond quickly shut down the motors and turned off the electronics before anything could ignite the leaking aviation fuel.

Two crews of firefighters approached the plane and began hosing it down with fire retardant chemicals. The Loadmaster pressed the button to lower the rear ramp and it began to lower. A slew of Seaman rushed the plane in protective suits. They began carrying the dazed Airmen to the flight deck for triage. Bond stayed with Captain Williams until the medics carried him out. Then stopped by the Fuso to retrieve the silver suitcase. He walked toward the front of the plane and stepped down the flight deck stairs.

Outside, he could feel the deck under his feet and the reassuring thrum of the propeller's. He reminded himself that the last time he'd been in a C-130, it had crashed and he'd barely got out in time. Andera rushed up and gave him a wet passionate kiss, and then Captain Dalton interrupted them. He said, "Congratulations Commander, that hasn't been done in forty years".

Bond looked at him and returned the smile and grabbed the outstretched hand, without the protective glove, and gripped the hand firmly, then snapped a salute. "Permission to Come Aboard Sir?"

Captain Dalton smiled and ordered, "You two should get to Decon. Your boss wants you to call her as soon as you are cleared by the Medics."

Bond looked at the sky and then spoke to the Captain "You'd better take this suitcase; it's apparently an atom bomb. I'm sure you have people that can figure out what to do with it." He hugged Andera and walked toward the team of medics awaiting them. "I should have stayed at Shamelady, I was on holiday."


	3. 2005-11-08 Without Hope

Without Hope

Bond threw down the Times. He sipped the last of his midmorning coffee and rolled his chair along the worktable to his Desktop. The flashing Lotus Notes Icon caught his attention and he opened the e-mail. It was from R, the head of Records Department. The note simply said. Security is still in place for many more years.

Trust R to make sure that a secret stayed a secret. R was the keeper of the 'Official Secrets' that were so often spoken of in public. But it had been M who'd made this secret 'Official' for fifty years.

GREGOR of course was still alive. Near the top of the Moscow hierarchy, and had his followers, some of whom, were likewise, sleeper agents for the west. All of their lives were at risk, should the secret be revealed. GREGOR had been a young compatriot of Gorbachov, Putin, and Yeltsin. An understudy if you will. But circumstances brought him to the attention of MI6.

This secret involved a mission that Bond had taken on back in the bad old days of the Cold War. M had called him to his office. When he'd entered, M spoke, "Sit down, 007." Bond sat and waited. M grumbled "Have you heard anything about our having a resource in Moscow?"

"No sir." He answered.

"Well, we might if what I'm hearing from our cousins is correct. Then again we've had these things crop up before and these people turn up dead."

Bond nodded, "What seems to be the problem sir?"

"Amatuers, bloody amateurs, that's what. The President in his almighty wisdom sent this fellow to meet with this new resource. His picture all over the papers, visiting Leningrad on a good will tour. They claim that he's to meet with this asset "GREGOR" and confirm the intentions of the man. Like a comedian's going to be able to do that. He's traveling with a few CIA minders, but when he leaves Leningrad, he's coming to Liverpool."

"The PM wants us to debrief him first, as he was born here, and the cousins have agreed with the minders along for the ride. Now Five are all up in arms about the very real security issues surrounding his arrival." He stated.

Then continued "But we have word from the consulate in Leningrad that one of the KGB thugs have been seen separately from their security teams. The problem is really that he's a Department 9 thug. One of their blowpipe fellows."

Bond interrupted, "Smersh sir? He must be after GREGOR."

"Exactly the CIA's opinion. We all assume that he knows that GREGOR met with the envoy and is just covering all the bases. We really can't risk exposing GREGOR by killing this thug. But I doubt, that the word has gone far up the KGB pipeline." He explained.

"Now you have two missions entangled. Keep this thug away from the comedian, and if possible convince him of the innocence of this comedian's meeting with GREGOR. If GREGOR is blown, we'll be missing an important link in a long range plan to destabilize the Soviet Bloc."

"So your saying the fate of the people in the Soviet Union is in the hands of a comedian?" Bond queried.

"Exactly!" hurrumphed M. "Our debriefers will need about twelve hours, and this comedian really can't disappear for that long with this thug on his trail."

"Could he visit the Prince and Princess, sir? Photo ops with the new baby, etc. behind closed doors, private royal performance? That sort of thing?" Bond suggested. "That would make the task of debriefing easier. Without actually bringing him to Regents Park."

"Fine idea James, I'll get right on to Five about it. Now all that you have to do is make sure that thug doesn't get close enough to smell a rat." M waved him away.

….

Bond shook the hand of the comedian. "Well hello Mr. Bond, are you going to be talking to me today?" Bond shook his head no. "Call me Les."

Bond looked at the mans luggage and responded "Call me James, Are you a golfer? Les?".

"Every day James, every day, one of the perks of being famous, rich and surviving the wars. You know that I was with the OSS & SOE?" asked Les.

Bond cursed the official secrets act, he'd been totally surprised by this news. He nodded his head in the negative.

"Franklin D himself recruited me and turned me over to Donovan. I've been working the bright lights and the back alleys ever since." said the comedian. Of course Bond thought to himself, who would ever suspect this loud, rich, spoiled American as a spy. He'd even done movies as a bumbling spy and no one had ever caught on.

"I thought that you might like to visit Her highness, Princess Diana, while you're here and speak with some of our people there." Bond stated.

"Excellent idea James, I'd like to see little William. It's a very high profile event, and that tag I picked up in Leningrad won't be able to justify putting any pressure on GREGOR." smirked Les.

"No one told me that you knew already about the fellow following you." Said Bond.

"Knew! It was me that pointed him out to my bodyguards. They are young and tough, but not too experienced." Responded Les.

"I know enough about those fellows to stay out of their line of sight. I really don't want to die of some esoteric poison. Well this must be my car, next time that you're in California James we'll have to have a round of golf." the comedian smiled.

"Only if you'll do the same when you are here." Answered James. "My card."

"I'd be happy to!" said Les.

…

Over the years, Bond had met Les for golf twice in California, once in Dublin, once in Scotland and played in two of Les's 'Classics'. One of the few, very nice, rich men Bond had encountered in his lifetime. The Times headline stated "Lesley Townes 'Bob' Hope Dies at 100".

He hoped that GREGOR remembered the man that had helped destroy the Soviet Union. He would always remember the 'Classic' where he made the cut and finished in the middle of the pack at 2 under.


	4. 2005-11-09 Breach

Breach

James Bond looked at the document in disgust. He picked it up again. Mulled over its conclusion and threw it down.

……

Analysis of Media exposure and parallel potential of Security breach!

Prepared by Records Department: Multimedia Sub-department: Security Officer:

It has come to the attention of the records department that Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service may have a security risk in the Operations Sub-department designated 00.

Evidentiary: The Daily Mail, 8, January 2003, Page 3.

Review of Shag Another Day

Fifty two years ago, Ian Lancaster Fleming, typed the first Austin Powers novel Royale Shag. This erstwhile comedy thriller portrayed the hero of the book as a bumbling British Secret Service agent. This agent had appeared one day from the future via time machine.

The future (1975), a time when the Egypt/ Israeli standoff had escalated into a war that was not supported by the people of the free world. A peace movement had spread through out the free world. Austin Powers was a product of this generation, spreading his word of world peace, free love, and putting down the warmongers of the world.

Flemings prose was so popular that it spawned the 1960's cultural upheavals that occurred during the Vietnam conflict. The Beatles copied Austin's pageboy haircut. Elvis copied his freedom to dance and popularized the pelvic thrust that Ian had suggested as the popular dance of the seventies. And brought the magazine Playboy into the households of the world.

Teaming in later years with the publisher of Playboy magazine, and again later with film producer Kevin McClory, Fleming spawned one of the most profitable film series in history. These films were imitated by several different film companies, causing the spy mania of the late 1960's.

Upon Mr. Fleming's death, Austin Powers was deep frozen along with his nemesis Dr. Evil until the 1990's. John Gardner, the writer of the successful imitation novel series about 'Boise Oakes', took over the reins of the Powers literary storyline in 1977. Awakening in 1997 Powers again took off into the past after Dr. Evil, his clones, and his gang of terrorists. Assaulting the Moon base of Dr. Evil in the novel and subsequent movie 'Man of Mystery'.

Well Mr. McClory has done it again with "Shag Another Day". This time there is a difference, however. Scott Evil has taken the reins of the organization. Dr. Evil shows up in only a few minutes of screen time as Scott freezes him for the foreseeable future. Or until Mr. Myers wishes to don the suit again.

Scott Evil it turns out was behind the September 11, 2001 attacks in the United States, using his Arabic lackey Camel Kahn the real leader of al Queda. Think Osama Ben Ladin portrayed by VJ Armitage. Scott had sent computer operators into the world trade centers that morning to transfer funds from several banks into the accounts of the EVIL empire.

Austin Powers is sent from the year 2020 back to 2002 to stop Scott Evil and Camel Kahn from completing their newest plot. The luscious Jennifer Garner lights up the screen in a role made especially for her with lots of high kicking and close ups. All in all a Two Star movie. Not the Best Austin Powers Movie, but certainly not the worst.

Nigel Broadbutt

See Appendix A for a list of Austin Powers novels and movies.

Appendix A:

Novels by Ian Fleming;

Royale Shag

Live and Let Shag

Shagging is Forever

Moonraper

From Turkey with Undressing

Dr. Evil

Goldmember

Fireballs

The Spy Who Shagged Me

Only For Shagging You

From A Shag To A Kill

Servicing Her Majesty

You Only Shag Once

The Girl With The Golden Bum

The Shagging Nights

The Shagging of a Lady

Sharkshag

General Sin

A Touch of Frost

Novels by John Gardner;

Man Of Mystery

License Revoked

For Shagging Service

Nutbreaker

Never Say Shag Again

Brokenhoof

The Man From Baltimore

Seaflame

Goldenorb

To Shag Is All There Is

Shag Another Day

Shagging Never Dies

The Man with the Red Hickey

Never Dream of Shagging

The Lord of the Ring

Doubleshag

Shag No Flowers

Austin Powers Movies Produced by Kevin McClory

Dr. Evil

Austin Powers: Peter Sellers

Dr. Evil: Joseph Wiseman

No. 2: Jack Lord

Drippy Cooche: Ursula Andress

From Turkey With Undressing

Austin Powers: Peter Sellers

Dr. Evil: Robert Shaw

No. 2: Bob Hope

Bianca Bumchik: Jayne Mansfield

Fireballs

Austin Powers: Peter Sellers

Dr. Evil: Gert Frobe

Fat Bastard: Peter Lore

Ragina Mostley: Honor Blackman

Royale Shag

Austin Powers: Peter Sellers

Dr. Evil: David Niven

Molly MacTarry: Nancy Sinatra

Whisper Wind: Barbara Bouchet

You Only Shag Once

Austin Powers: Peter Sellers

Dr. Evil: Donald Pleasance

No. 2: Sean Connery

Wanda Kissime: Rachel Welch

Servicing Her Majesty

Austin Powers: Benny Hill

Dr. Evil: Telly Savalas

No. 2: Stanley Baker

Countess Comalot: Diana Rigg

Shagging is Forever

Austin Powers: Peter Sellers

Dr. Evil: Micheal Caine

No. 2: Yaphet Kotto

Rosey Cheek: Jill St. John

Live and Let Shag

Austin Powers: Roger Moore

Dr. Evil: Jackie Gleason

No. 2: David Hedison

Miss Knohitall: Jane Seymor

The Girl With The Golden Bottom

Austin Powers: Roger Moore

Dr. Evil: Christopher Lee

Mini Me: Herve Velechez

Miss Chume: Britt Eckland

Moonraper

Austin Powers: Roger Moore

Dr. Evil: Kurt Jurgens

Fat Bastard: Richard Kiel

Miss Givhead: Linda Carter

For Shagging You Only

Austin Powers: Roger Moore

Dr. Evil: Topol

Mini Me: Kenny Baker

Doya Wannme: Caroline Munro

A Shag to a Kill

Austin Powers: Chevy Chase

Dr. Evil: Christopher Walken

Clone: Christopher Walken

Tiffany Shaggit: Farrah Fawcett

Shagging Never Dies

Austin Powers: Chevy Chase

Dr. Evil: Max Von Sydow

No. 2: Klaus Brandaur

Felisha Bushy: Maud Adams

The Shagging Knights

Austin Powers: Pierce Brosnan

Dr. Evil: Jerome Crabbe

No.2: Brian Dennehy

Linda Lovit: Meg Ryan

License Revoked

Austin Powers: Pierce Brosnan

Dr. Evil: Jonothan Pryce

No.2: Robert Wagner

Conchita Valentine: Talia Soto

Never Say Shag Again

Austin Powers: Pierce Brosnan

Dr. Evil: Elton John

No. 2: Robert Wagner

Havalotta Hotsey: Bridget Nielson

Goldenorb

Austin Powers: Pierce Brosnan

Dr. Evil: John Candy

General Orb: Sean Bean

Strawberry Von Rothschild: Drew Barrymore

Man of Mystery

Austin Powers: Mike Myers

Dr. Evil: Mike Myers

No. 2: Robert Wagner

Carlotta Fagina: Lana Wood

The Spy Who Shagged Me

Austin Powers: Mike Myers

Dr. Evil: Mike Myers

No. 2: Rob Lowe

Miss Shagwell: Heather Graham

Goldmember

Austin Powers: Mike Myers

Dr. Evil: Mike Myers

Scott Evil: Seth Green

Foxy Cleopatra: Beyonce Knowles

Shag Another Day

Austin Powers: Mike Myers

Scott Evil: Seth Green

Camel Kahn: VJ Armitage

Jucy Loosie: Jennifer Garner

Sub-Department Summary:

In a recent vetting procedure it was noted that one of the longtime members of the OO sub-department was on friendly terms with Mr. Ian Fleming. This Officer has had many operational roles and if it were not for the fact that many of Mr. Flemings descriptions of certain events (The V2 Rocket launched toward London in Live and Let Shag Was written in 1953/ The Moonraker Rocket was launched in 1954)

Simply a case of life imitating art, or Mr. Drax reading Mr. Fleming for ideas. However we feel that this case is different. Prince Kamal Kahn tried to detonate a nuclear bomb in 1986, and this newest movie "Shag Another Day" portrays Sheik Camel Kahn as wanting to detonate a nuclear bomb. It is our position that a possible security leak has occurred in the OO sub-department, perhaps the Officer himself.

Frank Smallfoot

Media Officer

Although this officer has strained the bounds of employment on Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service in the past, there has never been anytime recorded or hinted about regarding this officer's oath of Official Secrets. In fact this officer and many others in the operations departments are publicly ridiculed and damaged by these spurious films and their ilk. In fact, these films are previewed by our agent, in the Standards office of this country. The film in question used the name "Camel" in a racist mode not as a substitute for a specific individual. They were allowed to use it when they changed it from "Cameldung" which was deemed too offensive.

Charles Robinson

Operations Director

M

Chief of Service

….

Bond thought to himself "Way to tell him Charles!" He picked up the document and tossed it into the round file.


	5. Going Ape

Going Ape?

I was enjoying my morning food, a green and it's sweet, when my life changed forever. I was in the cave with the hard ground and the hard vines all around me. I had tried to break the vines before and move them, but I was too weak. I tried each day, but I could not move them like the second could. I would have thought that he would challenge me, but he never did. He was hairless, like most of the others. The second came into the cave with others. They all smelled of Fear. The second named himself mombosa. A new other spoke.

"So, is this your wife, Major?" James Bond thought to himself that this last comment was rather racist, he meant no disrespect to the memory of Quarrel or to the large Gorilla in the cage, but then he thought that Quarrel would have probably said the same to the rotund Major. M had sent him to Sierra Leone to try and find another diamond smuggler. He followed the clues that eventually led him into Mali and this confrontation with Major Mombosa of the Malese Air force.

Major Mombosa mewed, "No, Mr. Bond, but this silverback, will soon be your husband."

_This new one had some hair, although I think it was his own skin not someone else's. He was pale, and long and smelled like rain. _

Bond thought furiously about his animal behavior training. He had paid attention but mostly because the instructor was a luscious brunette from East Germany. He'd later found out that she was not only an accomplished zoologist, but something of an animal herself. Apes and dogs were similar, only threatening, when threatened. Odd that he should think of it that way.

He was currently stripped naked, and his forearms and shins were tied tightly together with a strong hemp rope. The Major laughed at him and said "I think that you'll be surprised by this Mr. Bond. It's female gorilla extract, our friend in the cage won't be able to distinguish you from his mate."

The two guards smirked and held Bond over a desk. The Major began to sprinkle the fluid over Bond's back. Bond used his elbows to jerk upright and away from the desk. The fluid splashed over the three men. The guard hit Bond in the back of the head, stunning him slightly.

Females. The others were Females. Now I could understand their custom. They brought me food until they were in season. Now as the one, I had my own duty to perform. I could feel my loins swell with lust.

Major Mombosa laughed and chuckled "Enjoy your honeymoon, Mr. Bond, it appears your husband is waiting. Take him into the cage." The two guards grabbed Bond's arms and dragged him through the cage door. Then slammed it shut and replaced the bar in the latch. Bond noticed the latch and realized that if he could get his hands free it would be simple to exit the cage. But at the moment, he had to worry about the very large and amourous gorilla.

He watched as the large ape leaned heavily upon his outstretched hands. It's nostrils flared. "Of course, smell!" Bond said quietly to himself. He began to urinate upon the rope around his shins. He rolled in the small puddle until he was satisfied that he stunk appropriately. Then he crouched facing the Gorilla and held his arms out toward it.

The females had put the new other in the cave. He was tangled in a vine and looked at me. I thought he might challenge. But he averted his eyes and held his arms foolishly. I took pity on him as the females had obviously sent him to challenge me and I was four times his strength. I broke the vines around his arms and he tried to untangle himself from the vine at his feet. He'd kept his eyes down and teeth covered. So I knew he was no threat. He walked upright and didn't use his arms. That had to make him slow. But he moved the hard vines and let me through.

Bond found his clothes and quickly dressed. As he'd surmised the giant gorilla, thou mild mannered, would be concentrating on the female scent that still lingered on the two guards and the corpulent major. A quick scream followed by a muffled grunt as the first guard received the conjugal attentions of the bull Silverback. And then a thwack, as the second guard attacked the otherwise consumed attention of the gorilla, brought about his own timely demise. Then the sigh of satisfaction from the giant ape.

He was preparing to leave, when he heard the flushing sound from the WC. The ape having started down the hallway, stopped and sniffed then turned and went through the door marked Men. As Bond closed the exterior door he heard the Major's screams. "Happy Honeymoon Major!" he muttered.

_I beat my chest. My female cowered in the corner of the cave. Her scent filled my nose. Unlike the other one, she'd removed her skins, and cowered there, with her backside waiting feverishly. I performed my duty until I could no longer stand, and my dear mombosa was passed out on the floor. _


End file.
